


The Pink Lady at the Fall Festival

by Caedmon



Series: Doctor/Rose Prompts [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fall colors, Timepetalsprompts, Tumblr Prompt, could be Nine or Ten, fall festival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4916509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Doctor doesn’t stop to think about why he’s so pleasant when he sips on the beverage thrust upon him, doesn’t bother himself to wonder why the Oncoming Storm is light years away  and in no danger of approaching. He knows exactly why. He cannot pretend to be anything other than what he is: he is a man utterly enchanted by and totally besotted with Rose Tyler, the Pink Lady.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The Doctor and Rose have saved a civilization from a dictator in time for their annual fall festival, and the Doctor takes time to appreciate how everyone she meets seems to fall under Rose's spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pink Lady at the Fall Festival

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was written for timepetalsprompts Ficlet Friday prompt: 'fall colors', but it actually started for last week's drabble prompt 'everyday magic'. It got weighty and I missed the date, so I just hung onto it in drafts. When I saw the ficlet Friday prompt, I just edited and finished it up, so here it is! :) Could be NineRose or TenRose.
> 
> As always:  
> ~I own nothing, although every single mistake is mine.  
> ~If you are reading this, you are doing me an incredible honor and I thank you. I don't have the right to ask you for anything else, but if you could take a moment to leave kudos or comment I would really, really appreciate it.  
> ~Come talk to me! caedmonfaith.tumblr.com
> 
> p.s. ...anyone wanna guess what I was listening to when I wrote this?

Every little thing she does is magic, and it’s saved them again. 

The pair of them have defeated yet another dictator on yet another planet and are the guests of honor at yet another festival - this time, the festival that honors them is being held in conjunction with the annual harvest festival. But while the credit for the overturning of the evil ruler may go to the Time Lord, the small, reddish-hued people of the planet Rayk are well aware of who this night and the praise associated should belong to. 

They are celebrating, and they’re celebrating her, much to the Doctor's pride. He watches the scene with a sense of calm, quiet happiness. He’s not rushed. They don’t need to make a mad dash for the Tardis on this night. The Raykites have the right of it, and he’s decided he’s just going to lean against a tree and watch. 

It’s a swirl of orange and yellow and red before him, the Raykites dressed in their best, most colorful tunics and dresses, dancing their ancestral dance; a complicated, swirling thing that involves tossing up and catching scarves rhythmically while dipping and spinning. The natives clap and sing merrily, celebrating with the joy that only someone who has shaken off an oppressor after decades can understand. 

Among these small, reddish people a taller, pinker woman also dances. Rose and Rose alone arrests the Doctor’s attention because every little movement, every dip, every smile is magic and he doesn’t want to miss a second. She is undeniably the belle of this ball and the tiny Raykites have gone to great lengths to deck her in their finest: she is resplendent in a dress of gold and scarlet, her wrists and ankles laden with clattering bangles, a gold circlet atop her loose waves, scarves hanging everywhere. 

Rose is happy, swirling and tossing and catching the scarves as she tries to learn the fussy little dance that the Raykites are teaching her. Her smile betrays the tiniest hints of confusion and frustration but her brow smooths and her face shines with bright joy the moment she nails the routine on her third try. The entire group of little Raykites surprise a slightly shy Rose when they erupt into tumultuous cheers. It is a good omen, the Raykites think, that this woman who saved them would learn their dance of celebration and praise so quickly, and there are toasts in honor of Rose, the Pink Lady. 

The Doctor just crosses his arms across his chest a little more snugly and feels his smile grow. He is so, so proud of her, and the sight of her at the center of the celebration, being heaped with praise is fantastic to him, a true joy. 

The Raykites have sensed that Rose is magic, somehow, and have fallen under her spell; perhaps as deeply as the Doctor himself has, but he doubts it. 

She is tugged, laughingly, into the circle of the celebration and blends seamlessly into the whirl of dancers, the only things marking her different being her height and lighter skin color. The celebration increases in pitch now that she has joined them; the dancing is a little less inhibited now, the movements a bit more spirited. The singing is a bit louder, the children run around with fewer restrictions, the old ladies cackle and gossip more freely over their cups of ale. The Doctor watches Rose carefully - he always does, she’s too precious to let out of his sight for long - but she is ethereal in joy and it would be more of a hardship to look at anyone or anything else than her. The firelight and fading light of the suns attach to her, making her appear to glow. Her eyes reflect the dancing flames, enhancing the sparkle they always have. Her bare feet perform the steps as if she has grown up on this little world, she laughs with the natives as if she has known them for many years instead of the eighteen hours since they landed. Rose’s delight is a contagious thing, and he can’t help but be infected by her sorcery, a grin spreading even wider on his own face. 

When the Raykite leader approaches him yet again with another pint of ale and more thanks on his lips, the Bringer of Darkness is a galaxy away. There is only the Doctor left to greet him, a kindly Time Lord, who is uncharacteristically gracious in his acceptance and easy smile to the small, red man. 

The Doctor doesn’t stop to think about why he’s so pleasant when he sips on the beverage thrust upon him, doesn’t bother himself to wonder why the Oncoming Storm is light years away and in no danger of approaching. He knows exactly why. He cannot pretend to be anything other than what he is: he is a man utterly enchanted by and totally besotted with Rose Tyler, the Pink Lady.

Every tiny thing she does is magic, and it has an effect on even tiny things. The Doctor chuckles when the children start to tug on Rose, catching her by the fingers and asking her to dance with _them_. They’re no fools, the Doctor thinks, these tiny red children. They’ve felt the warmth and light that she gives off naturally when she graces someone with her pleasure, and they’re clever to try to seek more of it. Rose gives them the warmth they seek when she kneels down, getting to their level and making them her equal, and speaks to them. The Doctor can’t hear what she says but whatever it is must have been perfect because all of the children scatter happily, squealing about Rose, the Pink Lady. 

The Doctor chuckles and she seems to hear it from across the distance, seems to be able to pick out the sound of his laugh over the din of music and loud voices and other people's laughter. Rose turns, seeking him out from his mostly concealed vantage point, and when she sees him the smile she’d been wearing withers and dies, falling away at her feet in a heap of dust. 

What is left is nothing short of miraculous. Her face blooms, it glows, it radiates happiness and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. Tiny little crinkles appear beside her caramel eyes and her tongue, that wicked little imp that plagues his thoughts at all hours, comes out to taste the corner of her mouth. The Doctor feels for all the world as if his hearts have engaged each other in a knockout fight within his chest and he has no idea what his face looks like, but he’s sure it’s the most honest expression he’s ever had. Surely, she can see his adoration, there’s no way it doesn’t show in his eyes, raw and real. That’s the result of her magic on him: She is Rose Tyler, the destructor of Time Lord walls and defenses.

Rose has stopped moving. The dancers are still swirling all around her, red, orange and gold scarves still flying up and being caught rhythmically, fall colors swirling all around her while the two of them stand, entranced by each other, eyes locked. 

Eventually, after a second or a lifetime, a Raykite woman catches Rose’s hand and tugs her away. The Doctor watches her go, still smiling, his arms still crossed, feeling the end of a moment he knows he will carry until the very last breath of his very last death and then well beyond into whatever afterlife awaits him. 

Rose allows herself to be led for a few steps, tossing a look over her shoulder to catch his eyes one last time and the Doctor is sure, quite sure, that no one on Earth, Rayk or anywhere in space or time has ever seen or gets to see that look in Rose’s eyes but _him._ The Doctor, Time Lord and unworthy supplicant, is the only blessed recipient of that smile with those hooded eyes from Rose Tyler, the Pink Lady.

Every little thing she does is magic and as she spins away, tossing and catching the deep crimson and mustard-colored scarves, smiling while her hair flies wild around her face, laughing with the small natives, the Doctor knows that he has fallen utterly under the soothing, calming influence of her white magic. And, he realizes, in nine hundred years of space and time travel, he’s never met anyone he’d rather be enchanted by.


End file.
